


Let's just blame the mushrooms

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [106]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Short One Shot, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Maxwell has a 'Rip Van Winkle' experience.
Series: DS Extras [106]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Let's just blame the mushrooms

"It's been awhile hasn't it, Mr. Carter."

It wasn't much of a question, a given statement in fact, but it had Maxwell straightening up and turning a narrow look over at his unplanned visitor.

Wickerbottom watched him, a hard look in her eyes as she leaned heavily atop her golden crafted walrus cane, and even now he could see the wear and tear upon it, chipped gold and yellow stained bone, flecks of dirt and mud about its base from its times of travel. The old woman had a steely look in her eyes, reminiscent of older times, hunched heavily from the weight of age; there was no sign of swaying from fraying balance, but her wrinkled, frail hands trembled in a chronic tremor, and her face was heavily dragged upon by newer, heavier weights than what he has ever seen before.

"The caves had me for quite awhile." Maxwell gave her the simplest of answers, an excuse really, and turned back to stowing away the supplies he had gathered into the chest set before his tent. "It seems I have missed little, if you bare the marks of age."

"On the contrary." Wickerbottom took a few steps, hobbled over to a wooden chair set nearby, back facing the stone hewn walls of the camp itself.

Maxwell hummed absentmindedly, carefully putting away the vials of fuel he had since acquired from his travels; more than enough for seasons worth, with how long he had been down in the caves. The old remains of gold chain, from used Life Amulets, were tossed aside in a pile. Perhaps he'll hand them off to Winona, see if the engineer wished to melt it down and reuse it somehow.

"I do not wish to alarm you, but I had assumed you would notice before I had to say anything." The old women's achingly hushed voice, roughened with age, traveled over to him as he finished up emptying one part of his pack, firmly closing up the chest and dusting his hands, and suit, in a simple, automatic action. The rest would need to be stored in an ice box. "Time has often been a finicky creature, as I am sure you would know."

That statement gave him pause, eyes narrowed as he stared at the chest, mind already turning from the somewhat cryptic words.

"...Have you not noticed the dust yet, dear?"

Normally such a word would flare up a bit of offense inside his chest, but Maxwell had finally caught notice of the numerous discrepancies about his side of camp.

His tent had always been patchworked, sewn together over and over as luck ran out for the little encampment and it became overrun by monstrous things, but some of those stitches did not look even a hint familiar, a few colored fabric squares and long threads unfamiliar to his eyes and knowledge. The chest before him _had_ had dust upon it, something he had shrugged off as usual wear and tear from his absence, but now he hesitantly swiped a knuckle atop its wooden ridges. When he pulled back his gloves had a far thicker coating, dirt and sand and dust, sticking to them than he knew they should've.

When he turned around, jaw grit tight and voice ready to be bared, agitation at the knowledge his possessions have been touched, messed with, his words caught in his throat as his gaze landed upon the old woman and the chair she sat upon.

"...that has certainly…" he trailed off for a moment, hesitant as more than just confusion rose up in his mind, _he hadn't been in the caves for that long, not really,_ "...certainly changed in quality."

Wickerbottom smiled at him, not without a hint of sympathy, and then turned her gaze to the old chair she had placed herself on and gave it a little nod.

"Rather pleasant now, isn't it? Woodie has always been a good carpenter, but he has since honed the talent." She turned her head to look back at him, his plain confusion and uncertain, masked panic, and that same small, pitying smile didn't leave her face. "I am sure you will appreciate the work he has gone through, to ensure it isn't so crooked. His more recent pieces are quite a delight, I must say."

Maxwell blinked, gloved hands twitching before curling into fists as he took a steadying breath of air, slowly things were coming together, and with a soft sigh Wickerbottom eased herself up into a stand once more, leaning heavy on her cane as she caught her balance, the slightest tremor in her arms, her hands.

She made her way over to him, an almost apologetic expression on her far older face than he was used to recognizing, and her age has hobbled her, losing the height she once had from well taught elegance, but even now, as he looked down at her, the old librarian still held an aura of authority about her.

She pat his arm with more familiarity than he was used to, or at least a sense of nostalgic friendliness that made Maxwell go still in vague shock, but all she did was shake her head, let out a little laugh.

"You have been gone for much longer than any of us ever anticipated, including yourself." Her grip had lessened with age but he still had to fight the inner flinch when she gently squeezed his arm, tensing up in agitation at being so close to another, _he's been in the caves, the ruins for too long,_ and-

"It is nice to see you, Maxwell. It's been a long time."

For a moment his voice was stuck, pitch black eyes unreadable to this old woman, and she looked at the former Nightmare King and wondered how she could have forgotten just how angular he was, sharp and thin and prickling the air around him with that heavy scent of nightmare oils, the unknown and unwanted. 

"I…" Maxwell hesitated, completely caught off guard by what was happening, what _had_ happened, his time in the caves and ruins and blue mushroom forests couldn't have taken _this_ long, but the evidence was layering on thicker and thicker with each passing second, _shouldn't he have noticed something was off the moment he had seen those towering walls of what had to be camp_ , "I suppose it is well that I have...found my way back."

"Yes!" The old woman actually sounded enthusiastic, and she gave him a light shake before letting him go with a nod, wrinkled face lighting up as she started off on a steady hobble ahead of him. "Come with me, then, if you have settled yourself. When I had first realized you had let yourself in through the unmanned gates I had felt a bit wary of your reaction to all this, but it seems my worries were unfounded."

Maxwell hung back a moment, watched her with narrowed eyes, her obvious olden gait, trying to take a haphazard guess at the times, _how much time had he lost within the caves_ , but Wickerbottom was still springy for her age and he had to hurriedly catch up before being left behind.

"You did not seem perturbed by the obvious growth of the camp," She lead him steadily around a few more empty tents, then parallel along one of the many stone walls of the camps outskirts, a cobbled path taking the place of dry dirt and yellowed grasses under their feet, "but I assume it is due to having kept to these older structures. Am I correct in that?"

"I had taken note of the outside new...renovations." Maxwell's voice slowed a bit as they turned a corner, leaving behind the tents and more familiar campsite, and instead of the wall tapering off or disappearing altogether it only got bigger, thicker, heavy set stone towering above even him now, and his steps faltered as they seemed to pass through a small alley space between stone and wooden log wall. "I had thought it to be some harebrained idea or other from the lot of you. The gate seemed a bit over the top, what with giants that could just topple it down."

Wickerbottom laughed a shaky old dry laugh, shook her gray head and loose, frazzled thin hair, and Maxwell was too shocked by the rather unfamiliar response to his words to muster enough to be offended. 

"Oh, my dear, you have missed so much up there. I wish to ask what kept you, but later, perhaps after dinner." She then halted their path, stopped right before the wooden wall ended, the stone still keeping on ahead, and the light from the evening sun burned crimson warm, a nostalgic sight for Maxwell as he has not seen it in quite awhile, down in the caves tunnels and caverns. "Now, I do wish to give fair warning. Most of the others are out for business, though a fair few have decided to do some hunting for the upcoming feast-"

"What is there to celebrate?" Maxwell huffed as he tried to peer around her form, arms crossed and growing agitated at the interruption. "It's early spring, isn't it? All those blasted holidays are behind us."

"Not quite." She gave him that smile again, that pitying one that was starting to get on his nerves, for all intents and purposes he was technically _older_ than her, no matter how much longer she survives here, but she didn't seem bothered by his obvious impatience. "The end of winter calls for some sort of celebration, and the season's hunted Deerclops has given more than enough meat to indulge in frivolities."

Wickerbottom paused, and when Maxwell turned his glowering gaze back to her he went tense again as he realized she was observing him, looking over him intently. 

But then her face softened, a different smile in place now, not quite so sympathetic and more true to form.

What he didn't expect was the sudden hug she gave him.

"We may not have been close, dear, but I must say it is a relief to see you again." 

It wasn't a long hug, just a brief tight squeeze, and Maxwell stood there stock still as she pulled back, swept a wrinkled aged hand over her frazzled gray haired head, and then the old woman just shook her head at the disbelieving, shell shocked look he gave her.

"You will understand soon enough, Maxwell. For now, let me reacquaint you with our society."

With that, still shocked silent at the lingering sensation of arms around him, touch he hasn't felt in ages nor ever thought would happen, never entertained the thought of _Wickerbottom_ of all people doing such a thing, the old woman turned away and led the former Nightmare King into the distinct center of the camp turned village.

**Author's Note:**

> A part of me wanted to continue this, but it would get a bit extensive and complicated so I think I'll just leave it as is for now <:/


End file.
